


Nothing Fraternal

by messyjester



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Post-Canon, Size Difference, Size Kink, Voyeurism, on slash's part anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23449759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messyjester/pseuds/messyjester
Summary: Leatherhead is late, and Slash doesn't appreciate having to play detective. When he finally finds Leatherhead, he REALLY doesn't appreciate having to play detective.alternatively titled "walked in on my bro bumpin uglies w his bf, hope this doesn't awaken anything in me"
Relationships: Leatherhead/Michelangelo (TMNT)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 91





	Nothing Fraternal

Leatherhead was late.

Slash stalked the sewers, fighting a mix of worry and anger. Leatherhead was never late. It was uncharacteristic enough for more than just Slash to worry: Pete took to the sky for an aerial search while Mondo volunteered for the surface crawl, with Slash heading the effort in the sewer. Rockwell stayed behind to monitor the others and in case Leatherhead showed up at their headquarters. Pete had shared an uneasy glance with Slash before taking off; for the last few years, the worst the Mutanimals had had to deal with was petty crime, but there had been too many close calls in the past for any of them to take unexpected situations like this lightly.

' _He better be in huge trouble_ ,' Slash stewed as he stormed the well-worn path to Leatherhead's lair. ' _He better be in real rough shape or I'm gonna be pissed_.'

The sewers were eerily quiet, disturbed only by Slash's careless trudge. Even the water flow seemed slower and quieter than usual, nowhere near the rush it usually was. Slash paused for a moment, glancing toward the flow next to him, unsettled by the muteness. He shook the unease off and continued on, rounding the corner to the dead-end tunnel leading to Leatherhead's lair.

It was quiet here, too. Slash paused again, about halfway to the atrium at the end of the tunnel. Leatherhead often had music playing if he was home, regardless of his mood, and its absence was duly noted by Slash.

' _If he's not even home I'm gonna be **fucking** pissed_.'

Resolve steeled with his preemptive fury, Slash continued, stomping nearly the entire way.

Everything looked… fine.

Growling, Slash stepped further into the atrium, careful of the various traps that both Leatherhead and Donatello (under strict instruction from Michelangelo) had set. He had the path down to muscle memory at this point.

A yelp cut through the silence, and Slash jumped. That definitely wasn't Leatherhead; the voice was too high, too gentle. A second noise, this one softer but still unmistakably a cry by the same voice, startled him again. Worry fully replacing anger, Slash raced forward toward the direction of the sounds, the old train car serving as Leatherhead's main living space.

There it was again, the softer shout. Slash darted between the stacks and piles of broken concrete and dismantled train parts, finally emerging in the small clearing of urban decay that Leatherhead had made into his home. After a quick glance around for anything more immediately suspicious, Slash drew his attention to the train car in question.

An orange burst in the grey sea.

 _Something was wrong_.

Michelangelo.

He saw first just the shape of Michelangelo, hands splayed and face pressed to the glass. Immediately alarmed, Slash started toward the train car. He only made it a few steps before he stopped dead.

Michelangelo was moving. Rhythmically.

Slash's face suddenly felt warm, and he ducked behind some broken concrete. He slowly made his way through the rubble, creeping toward the window. 

He settled behind a mountain of concrete debris, directly across from the train window a few paces away. Slash took a deep breath, and then leaned out around the rubble to peer into the window. Michelangelo was still pressed tightly to the glass, one hand now curled into a fist. A brief flash of gold caught Slash's attention, and he looked up just over Michelangelo's head.

Leatherhead was behind Michelangelo. 

Moving, rhythmically.

' _Fucking him_ ,' Slash realized, his stomach plummeting in shock. Leatherhead was fucking Michelangelo. Against the glass of the old train car.

Slash ducked behind the debris, hand slapped over his agape mouth. Leatherhead was fucking Michelangelo. Against the glass of the old train car. Right in front of him.

It should not have been such a surprise, the small sensible part of Slash instantly nagged at himself through the shock. They were _together_ , in love, in a relationship, all those disgusting niceties. It really should not be surprising that Leatherhead and Michelangelo would want to consummate that relationship.

But it **was** surprising to walk in on them actually doing so.

Slash inhaled unsteadily, the heat spreading down from his face to his neck and shoulders. He should leave. Now. He should have left before he even got here. This was really nothing that Slash wanted to see, and he was mortified by the whole situation. He had to get out of there **immediately**.

He peeked back around the rubble.

Michelangelo had pushed himself upright some off the window, pressing his forehead against the glass instead of his cheek. His eyelids fluttered as he was bounced by Leatherhead's movements. His baby blue eyes were dark and hazy, unfocused and unseeing, his mouth slightly open and fogging the window. Slash was entranced. Michelangelo always had a shit poker face, and watching him now Slash realized that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The only word with which Slash could think to describe him in that moment was stunning; he was floored by the storminess of Michelangelo's eyes, his pupils dilated and bright.

Slash leaned forward, enthralled, carelessly grasping for something to put his weight on. He knocked loose a chunk of concrete, sending it crashing to the floor.

Leatherhead's eyes immediately locked with Slash's.

For a split second, the world seemed to come to a standstill. Slash's heart was racing, and though every fiber of him was screaming to run, forget it, maybe Leatherhead wouldn't know how much he had seen if he left now, he was frozen in place. 

Leatherhead hadn't stopped moving.

After what felt like endless, painful years, Leatherhead grinned, toothy and lethal. Still looking at Slash, he reached forward and grabbed the short tails of Michelangelo's mask, gently tugging his head back and wrenching the mask to the side, covering Michelangelo's eyes. In one fluid movement, he hefted Michelangelo up, the turtle's front flattened against the window from his head to his thighs. 

' _On display_.'

Michelangelo's cock smeared precum on the glass, trapped between it and his plastron. Leatherhead's huge hands cupped under his knees, spreading his legs wide. Slash nearly fainted -- the angle gave him a perfect view of Leatherhead's own massive cock pumping in and out of Michelangelo, stretching him open with each thrust. Leatherhead's cock tapered slightly, thickest at the base, and when Slash realized that Leatherhead was only pulling Michelangelo down about halfway onto the shaft _out of necessity_ , he thought he actually did faint for a second.

Leatherhead surrounded Michelangelo, completely enveloped him against the window; he was minuscule. His small body jostled with a sob as Leatherhead bounced him up and down. His hands were flat on the glass again, scrambling for purchase, occasionally inadvertently smacking the glass with his open palm. Even in his gawmy desperation, he never once grabbed for his mask, leaving his eyes covered as the rest of his visible face contorted in agonizing pleasure. The trust Michelangelo had for Leatherhead was not lost to Slash in this gesture, but Slash almost felt disappointed at not being able to see Michelangelo's eyes, haunting as they were, and he glanced back up at Leatherhead. 

Leatherhead was still staring at him, deadly controlled in his expression. It was vicious, territorial, and Slash understood with a flash of embarrassment that that was the point. Leatherhead's claws dug into the meat of Michelangelo's thighs, maybe slicing, definitely bruising. Trapping Slash's gaze, Leatherhead leaned down, snout against the side of Michelangelo's neck as he murmured something into his skin.

Slash jumped again when Mikey outright slapped the window, fingers twitching into a tight curl, and with a choked cry Michelangelo came against the glass. Though he did slow down, Leatherhead did not stop, fucking Michelangelo through his orgasm with lazy rocks of his hips. He paused only when Michelangelo shakily reached to the side with one hand, tightly grasping Leatherhead's arm. Leatherhead finally glanced toward Michelangelo for just a second, saying something else. Slash saw Michelangelo's chest heave with a pant before the turtle nodded, and Leatherhead resumed the easy pace for a few moments. When Michelangelo gave his arm another squeeze, Leatherhead slowly pulled out completely. 

The tip of his cock rested threateningly against Michelangelo's twitching hole for only a beat. Michelangelo tipped his head back against Leatherhead's chest, and in that brief moment of disconnection, Slash saw his mouth move.

Leatherhead's response was something Slash could only describe as brutalizing. He pitched Michelangelo up off the glass and against his chest, and in the momentum dropped Michelangelo onto his cock again, resuming fucking him just as fast as before. The new position allowed for better control over the little body in his hands and Leatherhead took full advantage of that. He was relentless, and Michelangelo threw his hand that had been on the window up to Leatherhead's shoulder for security. The pace was faster than before Michelangelo came, Leatherhead's hips snapping up as he brought Michelangelo down with equal rapidity. Slash noticed, like a punch to his gut, that Michelangelo was hard again. For a brief, wild moment Slash wondered if Leatherhead would ever stop; almost as soon as it formed, though, the thought was shattered -- Slash was shocked to see Leatherhead's domineering mask break, his eyes closing and his expression softening as his hips stuttered.

The slippage was brief. With a roar that shook the pane of glass, Leatherhead yanked Michelangelo down onto the shaft as far as the turtle could go and came inside him.

It was hypnotic. The remaining portion of Leatherhead's cock that couldn't fit inside Michelangelo throbbed (with each spurt, Slash assumed) and the small turtle twitched and jerked in tandem. His hand on Leatherhead's arm darted between his legs and flew over his dick, finishing a second time mere moments later; this orgasm was much less electric than the first, more relieving, and Michelangelo collapsed into Leatherhead. They stood together for a moment, Leatherhead still inside Michelangelo, both breathing heavily. The glass beneath Michelangelo was filthy, fogged from heat and drenched with ropes of cum. Leatherhead adjusted his grip to support Mikey's weight with one arm, so the other hand could rub soothing circles against Mikey's lower tummy as the turtle's softening dick began to retract. 

Then he started to pull out.

Slash's own groin ached in sympathy. Michelangelo must be so warm, so tight. It was probably hell to separate from such pleasure. It took Leatherhead ages to fully pull out -- he was moving so slowly, so tenderly, still rubbing Michelangelo's belly and nuzzling into him. When he was finally removed from Michelangelo, dick falling heavily against his thigh before starting to retract, Leatherhead exhaled deeply. Immediately his cum began to dribble out, a small drip down Michelangelo's thigh. 

Leatherhead gently gathered up Michelangelo in his arms, undoing the knot of his mask with one deft flick of his claw. The turtle's eyes were watery but alight, and he blearily blinked up at Leatherhead, smiling softly. Leatherhead returned the smile before glancing back up at Slash.

Message received.

He turned and sprinted away, ignoring his suffering hard-on as he desperately fumbled for anything to tell his team.

\------------------------

"Do you have any idea how worried we were?!" Pete snapped, slapping one wing on the table.

"Where even **were** you?" Rockwell asked, scowling.

"I was attending to personal business," Leatherhead answered, his voice smooth and guileless. Slash felt his cheeks start to flush again as the other Mutanimals griped at Leatherhead for his weak excuse. Slash had, quite wisely, decided about halfway back to take the high road and just lie to his teammates, telling them he had been unsuccessful in finding his second-in-command. With the kind of timing Slash could only have dreamed of, maybe ten minutes later Leatherhead had arrived.

"I'm sorry to have worried you, but we have ways to contact each other besides a full search and rescue," he countered their complaints. "I should have reached out to let you all know I would be late, but your response was a little extreme." They all had the decency to look chastened. Slash looked harrowed. "Let's just get started now that we're all accounted for."

After a little more group grumbling, Rockwell stood from his chair and cleared his throat. Slash immediately tuned him out, all of his attention on the mutant across from him. Leatherhead leaned back in his seat casually, eyes on Rockwell.

Slash dreaded the next time they were alone together. What would he say? How could they take each other seriously after that? Would Leatherhead tell the others what had happened? Would he tell Michelangelo? Had this ruined the relationship Slash had with Leatherhead?

The thought made him sick.

Leatherhead glanced at Slash, who jumped in his seat, flushing from head to toe. The corner of Leatherhead's mouth curled up and he flicked his gaze back to Rockwell.

No, Slash realized with a sigh. It didn't have to ruin anything if Slash didn't allow it. It would be a little awkward for a few days but Slash could let this go. He had to, for his sanity.

But he definitely would be giving that bastard a piece of his mind on boundaries.

**Author's Note:**

> ah. i don't know what environments look like.


End file.
